UN
by Reality Obscured
Summary: Various Prowl/Jazz writings inspired by words beginning with "un". Stories are much better than this summary, trust me.
1. Untouchable

--Written By: Reality Obscured--

AN: None of the following stories are exactly in any order. All I can guarantee is that they will be in the same continuity. In fact, originally this story was going to be based on three _un_ words that had inspired me, but since then? Yeah. All you guys know about how inspiration works.

Warning: Can be viewed as friendship, but I wrote it with slash in mind.

* * *

He was only a meter away…practically within arm's reach. All Jazz had to do was reach out and he could literally put his hand on a door-wing, a shoulder, or a headlight if he was so inclined… But for all the distance in the world, whether it be an arm length or the distance from Earth to Cybertron, Prowl was untouchable. The reaction would always be the same. He would stiffen and move, shy away, or ask for the offending appendage to be moved. That was the general track record Jazz had noted when others attempted cross the distance. The reactions had been less so when Jazz had tested his luck, but they'd still been there. Since then, he respected Prowl's personal space and kept his distance.

It left him wondering what had happened to Prowl after they'd gone their own ways when they were younger. Granted, even as a youngling, he'd never been one much for the touching thing.

The initial plan had been for them to grab a quick ration of energon as a small tank filler before heading back to the Ark's Strategy Room. They'd both been working on the mission guidelines –technically, tomorrow's mission- for his and Mirage's infiltration of a newly discovered Decepticon base in the mountains near a nuclear power plant. Prowl refused to settle for anything less than 95 or greater of a chance of success. According to all the equations and variables Prowl's battle computer brought to the table, they were currently sitting at 85. Try as he might, Jazz could not convince the tactician that it was all he and Mirage needed. Convincing his fellow commanding officer to refuel alone had almost worn him out!

He'd sent a private communications line to Bluestreak along the way, asking the young gunner to run intervention at the energon dispenser. If there was any one mech Prowl could not find it in his Spark to ignore, it was him, and it was about the only way Jazz knew of to get Prowl to relax that CPU of his…if only for a little while. So, with nearly three breems having passed since they'd arrived at said dispenser in the Rec. Room, Prowl was still listening to Bluestreak talk about what he'd done on his day off. And talk. And talk. And…(you get the picture).

Jazz watched on in amusement as Prowl settled down in a lean against the bar, listening to the other Datsun's excited chatter. It seemed to have included a drive-in movie and a paintball match with the Twins, which somehow resulted in Sideswipe making an unorthodox trip to the med bay. Sunstreaker had literally handed Sideswipe his aft for ruining his paintjob, and Sideswipe had to carry said skid plate into the 'bay with him. That did a fairly good job explaining the good mood Ratchet had been in for the past orn.

By the time he and Prowl made it back to the Strategy Room, it was late enough that Jazz was both wanting and needing his recharge. He only had until tomorrow morning. After all, he still had to get together and brief Mirage about the specifics. If 85 was the best that they had, they would go with it, and he explained this to Prowl before bidding him goodnight. He didn't have the battle computer nor the logic center the 2IC had, but he could guess that Prowl's quarters were likely going unused tonight. Getting the mech to relax was an accomplishment at any rate.

* * *

Later, at almost 0230 local time, when Jazz and Mirage were preparing to leave, an obviously weary and energy depleted tactician approached Jazz, handing him a datapad. "99.325."

Jazz watched as Prowl headed off in the direction of the Officer's Quarters. Likely to a welcoming and cool recharge berth. He hated it when Prowl overworked himself needlessly, even if he had been fully expecting it…but something in Prowl's programming almost made perfection a necessity. And, while Prowl had been exhausted, there was a glow of satisfaction about him, one only those closest to him would have seen. For Prowl, the end was indeed worth the means.

Even if he was untouchable, he never gave any less than his all.


	2. Unbroken

--Written By: Reality Obscured--

Warning: Once again, written with slash in mind, but you can look at it different if you want.

* * *

He didn't know how or when Skywarp had located them, but it hadn't taken the patrolling Seeker long to call in his usual reinforcement. Thundercracker had released a sonic boom as soon as he and his wing-mate warped into the area, jarring his and Prowl's systems, not buffered to the assault, long enough for Skywarp to get some pretty decent laser fire in on the tactician's torso. Jazz wasn't sure, but he thought he saw parts of the chest plate armor almost burnt right through. Thundercracker had blinded Jazz momentarily with his flamethrower before blasting him in places that the saboteur didn't even know COULD hurt. He'd gone down, even if he didn't understand why. Prowl wasn't in that much better of a condition, last he'd seen. Much more and the structural integrity of the Datsun's armor plating would be a moot number in the databanks.

Prowl must have known it, too, but he's still put himself between Skywarp and Jazz when the purple and black Seeker transformed to take Jazz on hand-to-hand. At the time, he'd figured that, somewhere on the line, the tactician's logic circuits must've been scrambled or the logic chips themselves damaged, but now?

Ratchet had left the med bay. For what reason, Jazz wasn't sure. He'd just been coming back online when the med bay doors were closing. The protocols to bring him back online had just been activated and the medic probably hadn't expected him to online this fast. The diagram of his and Prowl's repairs was till up on the main computer screen Ratchet used. It'd been mostly just scorched armor on his part…except for that main energon line that'd been completely severed away. Likely by one Pit of a slagging good shot. As he'd suspected, Prowl had suffered worse. A few internal circuits and melted wiring had to be replaced. One of the blasts had rendered his coolant pump nonfunctioning and overheating had caused even more damage. But…his logic center came out perfectly unscathed.

So caught up was he that he didn't even notice Ratchet's return until the medic spoke. "He had attached his fuel line to yours, considering you bled out completely. His fuel pump had overheated trying to pump for two mechs."

Jazz almost experienced his first processor freeze. "Skywarp? Thundercracker?"

"Weren't anywhere near you guys two when we got there."

Risking one's own Spark wasn't something that was unusual in the War. Any war. It happened every orn. But… "Ya ain't gonna order me out o' the med bay any time soon, are ya?"

The smirk Ratchet wore said more than his words. "Get over there. He'll be onlining any cycle now."

The boxy mech disappeared to somewhere at the back of the 'bay while Jazz slipped off the medical berth and made himself comfortable at Prowl's side. Ratchet had done a good job, as usual. Nobody ever expected any more or any less. Prowl didn't even look like he'd seen a battle much less been in one. Jazz gently ran a hand across the chest of the 2IC, the part he remembered being hit the hardest. The sensitive dermaplating of his digits could just barley pick up the faintest of new armor and welds across it.

He gave himself in to shudder, but it wasn't for Prowl. It was for himself. The thought of bleeding out… Once there was no energon to pump, the fuel pump was designed to shut down. His Spark would have started fading almost immediately, unable to leach the remaining energy from his otherwise dead systems for more than a few astroseconds. He'd essentially been a dead mech…and Prowl had taken the chance of destroying his already overtaxed systems and deactivating himself just to try and keep energy fed to his Spark. And nothing had even been wrong with his logic center.

So, one breem later when Prowl had come online and fully rebooted his systems, Jazz asked, "What were the chances, Prowler? I gotta know."

A cycle passed as Prowl worked out what Jazz was talking about. Then, "10 we would both survive."

That…had been a lot lower than he'd expected. "Why'd ya do it?"

Prowl sat himself up, no hesitance in his answer. "Our 10 was better, and more preferable, than your 0."


	3. Uncertain

--Written By: Reality Obscured--

AN: My decision on _Chitty Chitty Bang Bang_ was that I could really see these two watching musicals together, and I can honestly imagine Jazz trying to perform some of those stunts in the movie...!

Warning: Fluffly slash

* * *

Movie nights with Jazz were unpredictable, just like the saboteur himself. These nights had started out as an attempt to better introduce the 2IC to various genres and aspects of human culture through the means of television. It ended, it seemed to both of them, as an all-out attempt to find something both of them could stand to watch together. After almost two and a half Earth months of searching, they found an easy medium. Musicals, of all things. Prowl found it interesting that one of Jazz's favorites was Chitty Chitty Bang Bang (and subsequently warned the Porsche upon hearing it that he was, in no way, form or fashion, to recreate the illogical, absurd stunts that said car performed). It amused Jazz to no end that Prowl just about anything with Opera music in it.

(Jazz's side-o-the-story)

This night, Jazz had long ago completely disregarded the concept of Prowl's personal space. He couldn't honestly say what short-circuited in his logic chips to give him the conclusion that it was a great idea to use Prowl's lap as a pillow…but he did, and he'd fully expected a request for him to move. When it never came, he'd decided to stay, and had since loosened up and made himself even more comfortable. They had both started out sitting on Prowl's berth, watching something called My Fair Lady, when halfway through the movie Prowl had laid back and stretched out. Jazz essentially followed suit.

Prowl's cube of high-grade sat nearby along with his own. The tactician rarely finished an entire cube even as small as they were. Half was always left by the end. Not one to guzzle unless energy depleted, Jazz himself preferred to work on his throughout the course of the night…but he didn't want to move right now to get it. That would mean he'd lose this easy peace between them, lose contact with Prowl only to maybe not get it back again.

(Prowl's side-o-the-story)

There really wasn't enough room in his berth for the two of them to fit comfortably, Prowl mused, but somehow they were managing. He was still partially sitting up, his door-wings pressing lightly against the wall that served as the berth's "head board". Jazz had practically taken over his lap, lying stretched out between his legs in a lazy fashion. It was…odd, but it didn't feel wrong enough to have the Porsche move. To be truthful, he found that he was hoping Jazz wouldn't have the inclination to do so any time soon.

At one point, he saw the visored black and white glance at the high-grade cubes beside the berth. Apparently he hadn't the desire to move, either, evident by him settling back down. Prowl smiled slightly, noting he was closer, and reached down to retrieve Jazz's cube for him. For about two and a half astroseconds, surprise flashed across the other mech's face as he accepted the energon. The smirk that followed was hidden when he took a drink. Prowl pretended not to notice, concentrating instead on the movie playing on his quarter's vid-screen. He did notice how Jazz shifted to be ever so minutely closer.


	4. Unreal

--Written By: Reality Obscured--

AN: Yeah. This really isn't that long...but it's the scene I saw in my head when I heard the word "unreal" last night.

Warning: Slash

-- -- --

_The sensation of both gentle and firm caresses across his seams and plating played along his sensory network. His hands caught on to smooth, pale thighs as he leaned back into the mech behind him. Dark hands teased at his sides and held him in place at the same time. Which was good. The moment the mech in front of him kneeled down and traced the insides of his thighs and knees with his glossa, he found it very hard to keep still. _

_The pressure of mandenta and a cool mouth on a particularily sensitive neck cable wrought from him a pleasured gasp, covered up by the growling rev of his engine. There was almost no choice for him but to arch into the hands that now practically dug into the seams to find the internals underneath. He moaned as the glass of a windshield was pressed up to his bumper, the rumbles of the engine underneath sending delicious vibrations through his chassis, and a wonderfully talented mouth captured his and wouldn't let go…_

Prowl jerked out of recharge, frowning as he looked over at his bond-mate. A light shove to the shoulder roused Jazz as well, and the saboteur onlined his visor in confusion.

"You're projecting. Again." Prowl groused, lying himself back down on their berth to get comfortable. "Since when did you develop an interest in the Twins, anyway?"

An astrosecond later, Jazz smirked. "Since when did ya get interested in Bluestreak?"


	5. Unseen

--Written By: Reality Obscured--

AN: It's been WAY too long since I've updated this. Then, while lurking around elsewhere on the 'net, inspiration managed to sledgehammer the wall that is my writer's block. That is, for now... Oh yeah, an' this fits in with my "Many Tapes of Red Alert" story, iffen ya want...

Warning: Slash

-- -- --

Prowl hadn't known that the Head of Special Operations, a mech who relied on secrecy and stealth often enough on the job, enough for said skills to be second nature, was an exhibitionist. The tactician only wished that he'd had this knowledge before they'd hooked up. Maybe hen he could've had some form of plan, of strategy, to deal with his Spark-mate's bouts of spontaneity.

Maybe then he would've have been lectured by OPTIMUS PRIME just this morning about interfacing in the hall…right outside his office, that is. His door-wings wilted in embarrassment at just the thought.

Speaking of which… The door-winged mech was succinctly reminded who he was walking next to down an apparently empty hallway of the Ark when a hand brushed his hip. They were both off duty, and he was feeling a bit energized from some high-grade Jazz had offered him earlier. He wouldn't mind an overload if Jazz was offering, but--

"Jazz." He warned. "My quarters are just down the hall."

The hand grazed the section where aft met hip before it was pulled back, Jazz giving the most innocent expression he could manage without ridiculously overdoing it. It…would have looked believable to anyone who didn't know better. Essentially, anyone but Prowl. "What?" Apparently, he was also feeling his energon, as he added teasingly, "Ya didn't complain this morning', Prowler."

Because he'd had nothing to complain about then! The question whether or not he should inform his mate about Prime's reprimand slinkied back and forth on his logic center. There was a small chance that Jazz would actually listen to it. On the other hand, there was the greater percentage that he would take this as a personal challenge. The internal debate ended reasonably quickly when the most logical choice presented itself. After all, Prime hadn't ordered him to tell Jazz.

"Look at that. We're here." Announced Jazz when they arrived at the door to Prowl's quarters.

"Finally." He turned raising a hand to input the access code to let them in.

The hinges and wiring of his door-wings were suddenly "attacked", the access code going ignored as his hand went for the wall instead to support him. Slag that Porsche! Jazz knew how sensitive he was back there and wasn't playing around! His vocalizer hitched while his whole body felt each and every tensor tighten up at once. Some of the wiring was tugged, sending jolts of sensory information across his network. After what felt like too long but not long enough, he regained some sense of conscious thought and spun on his "attacker", pinning the black and white to the wall. Jazz grabbed his helm and practically ravaged his mouth in a passionate kiss.

Well… Jazz did present a good counter-argument to Prime's point…and nobody was around, so if they made it quick…

In the far corner where the hall met another and T-sectioned, a small, almost imperceptible lens flickered as it's internal components zoomed in...


	6. Unashamed

--Written By: Reality Obscured--

Warning: Slash (Prowl/Jazz--Prowl/Bluestreak--Jazz/Mirage)

* * *

Although his logic center and battle computer both received pertinent signals from his CPU, it was they which typically had the lead in all actions. Both of which were feeling distinctly unbalanced right now. Prowl's battle computer was working at an over energized thrice normal speed, giving him more possibilities and potentials than his logic center could handle. It didn't help the signals that traveled across the relays from CPU to logic chips had become retarded.

He blamed the small cube of half finished high-grade in his hand for the confusion and the mech in the middle of the Rec. Room for the possibilities.

Jazz was…dancing, though Prowl honestly didn't think that was the proper word to use for it. Pseudo-dancing-with-an-interfacing-likeness came closer if not a little lengthy. There had initially been a reason for this particular party, but Prowl had long gone past caring what it was. What mattered now was how a certain blue and white spy was pseudo-dancing-with-an-interfacing-likeness a little too closely to the mech his battle computer was viciously declaring MINE. The tactician's optics caught on blue hands bare centimeters from black hips and pale thighs.

6.2 centimeters. His battle computer offered unhelpfully. He didn't WANT to know the exact distance. He didn't WANT to know how close the Ligier was to something--someone--he wanted to be that close to. 5.9... 4.0...

The small energon cube destabilized and collapsed as his hand enclosed tightly around it, the energized liquid spilling down across white digits to stain them bright pink. Mirage had no idea how emphatically he should be thanking Primus for Prowl's dutiful processing and sorting of the many potential ways of bodily harm his battle computer was presenting to him. Though each and every one sounded increasingly pleasant, the strategic disadvantage the Autobots would be presented with at losing one of their best Special Ops. did not, and so the tactician forced his logic center into action over this. It wasn't right. Jazz was not his. He had no right to be like this over him.

"Prowl…?" Prowl suppressed a light flinch as cool digits closed around the top edge of a heated door-wing--a result of holding himself rigid for so long…among other things. The young gunner let go of the sensory panel fairly quickly. "Wow. You're really putting off heat. Should I get Ratchet, or--"

"I'm fine, Bluestreak." He cut him off, dropping the remnants of the cube that remained in his grip. Bluestreak seemed not to have noticed, or at least had refrained from saying anything about it. "My systems are still within the normal range."

Not completely true, though the answer did have its desired effect. It staved off further comments, even if the young gunner didn't seem to believe it. "Ok… If you say so, Prowl."

Prowl watched the Bluestreak move away, apparently heading to the energon dispenser to retrieve another cube. While he, Smokescreen, and Bluestreak were all essentially the same, each had their own differences to those who knew what to look for. The grayish blue and red mech was elegant in his own right. Considering he hadn't seen Blue keeping anybody else's company, he allowed himself to indulge in the sight of the other's sweeping wings, just slightly smaller than his own, along with the way his mid-section was just a little more squared… He could easily imagine his hands across those red thighs just as easily as he could those same digits across a certain saboteur's pale ones…

Prowl frowned, sparing the latter mentioned mech a glance. No, Jazz was currently "detained" as it was. The energy lapping across his circuits needed to be expelled, and he wasn't going to do so alone.

"Bluestreak." He approached his new target, placing a hand lightly against the inside edge of the other's left door-wing where he knew there was a particular circuit that would enjoy an adventurous digit. "Do you have any plans for tonight?"


	7. Unexpected

--Written By: Reality Obscured--

-- -- --

Author's Note: This was actually just a drabble I was workin' on...but someone found it lyin' around an' thought I should upload it an' call it "Unexpected", an' then build off'a it from there. What do ya guys think? If nobody likes it, I'll delete it an' pretend it never happened…

Warning: None I can think of...

* * *

Longer than anyone cared to save the memory files, and for reasons that never had been revealed, the 2Ics of the Autobot and Decepticon forces have held a deep, unending hatred for one another. It was never more obvious than when they met in the battlefield. One or both would inevitably be in dire need of repairs by the time it was all said and done. Prowl refused to speak about it, even under direct order; Starscream had only spoken of it to his trine, Thundercracker and Skywarp, and it had gone no further.

It was only a matter of time before events would escalate.

-- -- --

It had to have been by the power of a holy deity that the two mechs to have witnessed it had been Jazz and Ratchet. Prowl had felt the barrel of a null-ray, heated from use, press up against the back of his helm before he'd actually felt the presence of the other. Time felt like it had slowed down for all those involved…

Prowl's body underwent a complete power failure following the shot, falling to his knees before his body collapsed with a muffled thud to the earth. Starscream didn't leave on his expected snide remark, nor did he gloat. The silent scowl he gave as he escaped from the scene was proof enough of the signals he felt across his emotion chips on the matter.

Jazz provided cover fire while Ratchet practically ripped Prowl's chest plates open to get to his Spark chamber. Both knew the ramifications of what had just occurred. There never had been a mech or femme who had survived a null-ray blast to the CPU. The system would undergo a complete shutdown, leaving the Spark unable to draw energy from any of the other systems or energy reserves. The Autobot tactician was no exception. Both the CMO and the Head of Special Operations had seen their fair share of deactivated mechs in their time…and Prowl looked like a dead mech…

"His Spark's already starting to fade." The words were almost whispered. Ratchet looked at Jazz. "Unless we get him to an alternate power source in the next breem—"

"Don't say it, Ratch'…" warned Jazz.

Ratchet let out a growl of his own, standing up, clenching his fists tos top his shaking arms as he glared at the black and white. "You know how these things work!"

Jazz stopped watching the sky, feeling more than knowing that Starscream wouldn't return. Why would he? It wasn't like the Seeker would be back to FINISH the job… He looked down at Prowl's inert form, his frown softening at the edges only slightly before his lip components suddenly set hard. "Look, we jus' gotta power his Spark until ya can fix 'im, right?" Ratchet nodded. "An' Spark chambers can support more 'n one Spark, right?"

Ratchet wasn't stupid. He could figure out where this was going. "Jazz! There's a good chance you two could be bonded for life—"

"Don't make me make ya, Ratchet." Jazz's grip tightened on his rifle. "I ain't losin' 'im like this. Not when I can do somethin' 'bout it." Ratchet still hadn't made a move. His hand was shaking, but he managed to raise the rifle with the muzzle pointed in Ratchet's direction anyway.

Knowing Jazz would be good on his word, Ratchet opened a compartment on his arm, ordering, "Lay down next to him and open up."

-- -- --


	8. Unusual

-------------Written By: Reality Obscured-------------

------------- ------------- -------------

AN: Short. I know.

Warning: None

------------- ------------- -------------

"You've gotta be kidding me..." The CMO grumbled as he inserted the tips of the digits of his right hand underneath the Autobot 2IC's bumper. Even if he hadn't've known what had happened, how pliable the seam was underneath would have told him.

Prowl winced, frowning in a half grimace as Ratchet continued to poke and prod at cables and wires he'd rather not have poked and prodded at. "Ah, Ratchet? Wouldn't it be--" he grimaced. "Is it necessary for my pain relays to be on for this?"

"Quit complaining and sit still. I get enough of this from Ironhide." The medic eased apart two cables he came to, the final obstruction between him and his target. "Ever heard of saying 'no'?"

He held has still as he could while the red fingers worked. To help take his mind off of it, he let his logic center try and figure out which was more uncomfortable...the foreign object situated right between his Spark chamber and outer wiring, or the hand that was way too big to be where it was now. Funny how it wasn't coming up with an immediate answer. "Ever tried saying 'no' to Jazz?"

"Last week, it was a twisted knee joint. Two days ago, a cracked windshield--"

"--both of which were accidental." Prowl replied. "Jazz likes to...experiment."

One final tug had it loose. Ratchet pulled it out and held it up. "Fine. Now explain how Jazz's visor 'accidentally' ended up caught under your bumper, 'cause I REALLY want to hear this one."


	9. Unscented

---Written By: Reality Obscured---

Title: UNscented

Rating: T

Pairings: ProwlxJazz

Characters: Prowl, Jazz

Author's Note: Based on a true story. Trust me on this.

Warnings: Do not read an' drink at the same time.

------------- ------------ -------------

Jazz sat down against the wall, thinking back over how his morning had gone.

He'd just arrived back from a night patrol in the city...when he'd tripped over a recharging AND invisible sentry designated Mirage. Resulting trip had him landing helm first in a puddle of mud...which had Red Alert catch him on motion sensors and, unable to visually verify who he was, thought he was a Decepticon in disguise. Alarms blared for what felt like breems. Probably was. Mostly because Wheeljack had crossed a few wires when he'd last "upgraded" the system...

Everyone kinda saw something coming with that one. They just didn't know what. Sometimes, Jazz figured, it was better NOT to know everything.

Back to the subject...

The wash racks had been the Primus-born Matrix to finally reach. Then again... Primus must have one Pit sense of humor. After all, SOMEONE had to be getting a good laugh out of all of this. Apparently, the Dinobots had thought they could all fit into the racks at the same time. Needless to say... Dinobots + wash racks = ?

Answer 1) A very pissed and angry Sunstreaker.

Answer 2) An unsoothable Tracks and a Raoul who would get really tired of washing a certain Corvette really quick...

Answer 3) Jazz deciding to go to a human car wash.

Not that he minded. Personally, Jazz had found that he liked a good wash. The humans could get into the places that were really hard for a mech to do himself. Not to mention the local wash was having a deal on something called "The Works". The waxing and buffing at the end had lulled the Porsche-former into a light recharge. When he'd onlined...

Now... He'd returned to THIS. Absently, he rubbed at the bottom edge of his visor. At least the mud was gone, even if he DID smell like a citrus fruit had exploded in his cab.

He gave a forced smile and offered a nod in greeting to a couple of 'bots who walked by. When Bluestreak's door-wings started twitching, Ironhide was smart enough to grab the younger by the forearm and keep him moving forward. Jazz gave 'Hide a genuine smile of thanks. Explaining this to yet another 'bot wasn't something he was up to doing at the moment.

"....'Hide? Did I smell lemon?"

Jazz stood up, the other's voices fading away as he moved toward thd door to his and Prowl's quarters. Any and all movement on the saboteur's part only increased the intensity of the olfactory particles that sprang into the air. The main reason why his door-winged bond-mate wouldn't let him inside. He knocked lightly on the door, "...Prowl? I really need t' recharge. Shift in the mornin', remember? Ya bein' the one to do most of the scheduling and all."

Seriously. Prowl couldn't really still be holding it against him. It wasn't his fault that lemon-scented carpet freshener practically saturated his insides, where a new employee at the car wash had spilled a bottle of scented spray right into his floorboard. Ok, the employee had FLOODED his floorboard...


End file.
